


By Any Other Name

by AngelicSentinel



Series: i carry your heart [2]
Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 19:11:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10600380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicSentinel/pseuds/AngelicSentinel
Summary: the one where you don’t know your soulmate until you hear them say your name.





	1. Shinichi

One of the first disappointments Shinichi ever gets in his life is when Ran writes his name on the sakura badge she’s just made for him. She has such a cute expression on her face, penning out the childish hiragana with her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth, her focus almost entirely on making sure the lines don’t waver. She’s got absurdly good writing for her age, better than his, even. He’s jealous.

She speaks his name slowly as she writes, but he doesn’t feel that warm burn deep inside that supposedly comes with a soulmate saying your name.

It doesn’t stop his crush.

It does stop his blind faith in the concept of soulmates.

-

The older Shinichi gets, the less he believes. It’s not something quantifiable. No one is able to prove the phenomenon to his satisfaction. Sure, they say it exists, but any time he’s tried to find out more solid information, it eventually ends with, “They’ll say your name, and you’ll just _know_.” No. That’s not how things work. There’s got to be a reason, some kind of chemical reaction. Even scientists have been unable to come up with the cause, just that it lights up certain parts of the brain for seemingly no reason, releasing different chemicals contributing to happiness. To hear your soulmate say your name is as good as a hug, as social contact. The effects lessen the more it is done, but they never fully go away.

Psychiatrists say that finding your soulmate is better than most antidepressants.

Shinichi thinks it’s a load of lies. What about those that don’t have them? What about those that fall in love outside them? If they’re so important, why do they have to be found? Why, then, can they be anyone, anywhere? Why then, do you only get the effects once they say your name? Shouldn’t it be proximity? What’s so important about saying a name?

It can’t be recordings, either. It has to be in person. It doesn’t have to be romantic, but many people choose to take it that way.

It’s the plot of countless tv dramas and books and films, and now that they are in high school, it’s all anyone seems to talk about, and it’s driving him mad.

Ran is sensible enough about it, but let her linger even just a minute with Sonoko and she devolves into a giggling mess over the idea of them. Ugh. Sonoko likes pulling them both around, introducing them to each and every person she meets, saying their names as she says theirs back. It’s not considered rude.

What’s in a name, anyway? For all that that people posit _Romeo and Juliet_ as the pinnacle of romance, they didn’t know each other’s names at first glance, instead falling to base lust and passion at the sight of one another. And once they were found to be soulmates, it didn’t stop them from dying. In fact, it actually contributed to it. The same names that let them know they were destined for each other were, in effect, what killed them.

-

It’s cold there, up on that roof as Shinichi waits, hands in his pockets, firework at his feet, ready to be lit. The waning crescent moon shines high above, covered by a sparse scattering of clouds.  The wind blows hard; he’s watching over the city, the frenzied mess of lights below, when he hears it.

The lightest sound of someone landing on top of the roof, barely even perceptible. Shinichi turns back as the wind picks up speed, rippling his coat. A figure stands, silver monocle catching the light of the moon. One hand carelessly in a pocket. The white of his suit is nearly blinding in the dark, his mantle flowing behind him like a song.

He’s like a mythological figure, Shinichi thinks. Unreal.

His top hat is pulled low over his eyes, but the fearless smile tells Shinichi everything he ever needed to know. This is his target.

“Kaitou 1412,” Shinichi says, stopping the thief in his tracks, stuffing down the cell phone earring and ignoring Agasa’s protests. He catches his eyes the best he can in the poor light, matches his grin, slips his own hands in his pockets to keep them warm.  “Or should I say Kaitou Kid?” he says as he leans down, setting off the rocket. They both watch it fly up into the sky, landing amongst the stars and exploding to become a part of them.

Then Kaitou Kid’s eyes fall back to him. His smile vanishes, his mouth forming a sharp slash on his face. “Who are you, boy?” There’s an uncertain thread running through the question, a lack of the confidence the thief had before. Shinichi would say he looks almost _pained_.  

It could be a trick. Shinichi can’t let him get away. Still, he should know who is about to defeat him. He smirks. “Edogawa Conan, detective,” he says. “There’s a helicopter coming this way. I think it noticed us!” he chirps, doing his best impression of a six year old.

Kaitou Kid laughs. “As you no doubt planned. I’m no fool.” Then he picks up a radio, changes his voice through an impossible range without any assistance at all, directs the police around like puppets on a string, delivers a speech about thieves and critics. “You’re not a normal child,” he murmurs, almost to himself at the end of it. “So clever.”

As the flashbang goes off, and he disappears into the night, he says, “Your name…I will remember it,” he promises.

It sounds like a threat.

-

It’s hard to think. Shinichi doesn’t feel good. The cold has moved down into his chest, his congestion exacerbated by the acrid smoke of the burning bridge.

Shinichi can’t do anything if he’s not well enough to breathe. He’s cold, and feverish, and the sweater helps only a little bit. His brain is fogged, and there’s a killer. Two people have already fallen victim to them; one here, and one outside, killed at his computer, leaving only the pseudonym of the culprit.

And the body is in the middle of the snow, and even Shinichi doesn’t have any idea of how it got there, not yet. The sweater is only helping a little to keep the chill off. Then he feels eyes settle on him.

He looks behind him. The medical student is hovering again. He’s been doing it ever since they found Shinichi in the snow. Presumably it’s because Shinichi is sick and he’s going to be in the medical field, but something doesn’t feel right. He ignores him, looking at the little window. He thinks he sees something above it. He scrabbles at the wall, out of breath. If he could just reach it—

He feels hands lift him up, “Thanks,” he says. He’s used to it by now, as weird as it is, after Ran and Hattori. Staples above the window. Just like he thought.

“You find what you needed, little detective?” he says.

“Yeah,” Shinichi says slowly as Doito Katsuki sets him back down. That’s another thing he’s noticed, alongside his handle of Red Herring, which makes him instantly suspicious. He’s the only one out of the people here who haven’t called him by name, instead calling him “detective” and “little inspector.” He’s almost too suspicious, but Shinichi knows he’s not the murderer. “You know, you can call me Conan if you want to, mister!” he says brightly.

The man looks like he bit into a lemon. It’s only a split-second, but he catches it. Shinichi doesn’t have enough time to wonder why he’s making that face before he says, “Okay, Conan-kun.”

Shinichi can’t help it. He lets out a gasp, much to the worry of Ran and Sonoko, and falls to his hands and knees. Shinichi’s name feels like warm honey-wine leaving his lips, and it lingers.

No wonder no one has ever been able to describe what hearing your soulmate say your name feels like to his satisfaction. It’s like stepping into an onsen. Soaking in a furo after a hard workout, when tense muscles just relax. Napping in the spring sun when the floor is warm and the temperature is just right, or cuddling underneath a kotatsu in winter, but those only catch the barest hint of what it feels like. It’s inexplicable, a surge of warmth all over from the bones out. It’s the first time he’s felt warm since leaving the car. Words can’t even begin to do it justice. The closest he can get _is_ a warm hug.

His soulmate is some random twenty-something medical student.

Huh.

Soulmates statistically tend to be close in age. It wouldn’t be unusual in his normal body, but as Conan—

It’s only as he stands and tries to play it off that he realizes the man knew before he did. Why else would he be so reluctant to answer? How did he know? Had Shinichi said his name before? No, he didn’t think so.

And then something even more staggering. He hadn’t said Shinichi. He’d said Conan.

He faints, then.

He awakens to Ran’s frantic shaking.

 _Wherefore art thou Conan?_ Shinichi thinks, just a little bit hysterical. Does the fact they met as Conan mean he’s now Conan more than Shinichi? Will he ever go back to himself? It sends him in a blind panic, and he only just manages to compartmentalize enough to deduce how the body landed in the middle of the snow. He puts it the back of his mind for the rest of the case, concentrating on proving the culprit’s guilt.

-

He figures out the anagram  as Kaitou Kid reveals himself. Shinichi runs to the balcony, hoping to catch him before it’s too late.

But perhaps he shouldn’t have hurried. The thief appears to be waiting for him, hand in his pocket, smirk planted on his face.

“It’s you,” Shinichi says. “You’re my soulmate.” It explains why he was avoiding saying Shinichi’s name.

“Mhmm,” he replies. “I was wondering when you would figure it out.”

“You knew.”

“I did.”

Shinichi thinks back to everything he’d said. He hadn’t used any appellations towards him, except, “Your name can’t be Phantom Thief,” Shinichi says, voice tinged with disbelief.

An almost imperceptible shiver. “That it is not. I must admit, I find the metaphysics curious,” he says. “What makes a name? What makes us who we are? Why is that the trigger for,” he gestures between them, “this? Names,” he shakes his head. “Such mutable things. Clothes to be worn and changed and discarded.”

“Maybe for someone like you,” Shinichi says. Inside though, he can’t help but wonder.

“Do they make us who we are, or do we transform our names into something with meaning?” Kaitou Kid muses. “My name may not be Phantom Thief, but a phantom thief I am, all the same.”

Shinichi blurts out “I am NOT Edogawa Conan,” before he catches himself, caught up in a whirlwind of thoughts.

“You’re not?” the Kaitou Kid tilts his head. “It’s none of my business, but some part of you must be. It was a strong reaction, one of the strongest I’ve seen.” Implying he’s seen many. “But if you are not he, then who are you?” he asks.

“I’m—” Shinichi begins, then stops, unable to say the words.

“Yes, I thought as much.” There’s the thundering of footsteps outside. “But it appears I have overstayed my welcome.” He bows. Shinichi doesn’t even think to pull out his watch as a hang glider springs from nowhere. “Farewell, Not-Edogawa Conan.” The warm feeling spreads through him as he repeats his name, feeling like an embrace.

Shinchi runs to the balcony, but the phantom thief has already disappeared into the night, leaving Shinichi with nothing but his thoughts.


	2. Kaito

Kaito falls from the sky as silent as a ghost, landing on the roof, dismantling his hang glider in one smooth motion. He smirks. The Inspector will be here at any moment. Nothing like a good bout of chaos in the early morning. It will be an excellent joke, Nakamori the perfect April Fool, the perfect distraction from the real prize.  

It’s windy, and he had to fight a headwind to land on the roof. He smiles. Nothing he can’t handle, obviously. But something below catches his attention as he stands: a small figure looking out over the city and turning towards him.

Well, well, well. Something different. A new trick up the Inspector’s sleeve? A little boy, meant to throw him off? He can’t be over six or seven. Kaito slips his hand in his pocket. His cape flutters in the breeze. Kaito must look pretty impressive, if he does say so himself, the moonlight shining down on him. Keeping the light at his back keeps his face in shadow. One could never be too careful, after all, even if it is a small child. Actually, being so much shorter than he, it must give him a better vantage of his face.  

The boy’s glasses catch the moon, turning a waning crescent into a waxing one. As Kaito descends from the top of the stairwell, he sees himself reflected in those eyes. Something poetic could be said, if Kaito wanted to reach for it. A kid, and the Kid. Another time, perhaps, though he supposes he can take a moment to play.

But what is he doing there, and so serious, Kaito wonders as he walks forward.

“Kaitou 1412,” the boy says with a grin. Oh, how adorable, Kaito thinks. He’d deliberately searched him out, then, kid versus Kid. It makes him pause, how the boy mirrors his pose, smirk and all.

“Or should I say Kaitou Kid?” he says as he leans down, setting fire to the rocket.

The words ring in his ears, wrap around his heart. The burn starts there and radiates outwards, scalding and molten, intense and breath-taking. He feels as if he’s burning alive from the inside out. For a moment, Kaito feels faint, dizzy. It takes everything he has to keep his face placid, neutral, even. He’s known Aoko wasn’t his soulmate for a long time, but this―

This just isn’t fair. He’s ten years younger than him, at the very _least_. Kaito has never heard of a gap that large between soulmates. And phantom thief is not his name, this is not how it’s supposed to work. Why did it happen when he said phantom thief KID? That’s not his name. You’re supposed to know your soulmate as soon as they say your real name, right? _Right_? It’s not him. It can’t be him. He’s Kuroba Kaito first. A phantom thief is _what_ he is, not _who_ he is.

Being the moonlight magician was fun in the beginning until _they_ showed up. And maybe some part of him feels driven to search for Pandora, but that’s not who he is, right? Right? The firework exploding is  a perfect analogue to his emotions: bright, explosive, loud. It takes everything he has to keep it together. He grits his teeth, keeps his eyes trained on the impossibility in front of him. A smile is out of the question. Not until he regains his equilibrium.

“Who are you, boy?” Much to his shame, some of his uncertainty bleeds through and his voice wavers. No. He’s got to be better than this.

The boy must notice it, for he smirks. “Edogawa Conan, detective,” he says, baring his teeth in a fierce smile. Edogawa Conan, detective. Smart enough to figure out the answer to his heist note and get to the top of the Haido Hotel before anyone else could.  “There’s a helicopter coming this way. I think it noticed us!” he says in a completely different tone of voice.

As if Kaito is that stupid. His soulmate is a terrible actor. Well, he is just a child, regardless of how intelligent he is. He laughs. “As you no doubt planned. I’m no fool.” Not exactly how he had expected to be found out, but he could definitely work with it. In fact, the more people that show up, the better.

And maybe he is showing off, just a little. The child isn’t the only one who can manipulate. “You’re not a normal child,” he says. “So clever,” he says, because even detectives aren’t immune to flattery. Seeing his stunned look when Kaito manages to outdo him in a few easy steps is just a bonus. This is a child used to manipulating people to get what he wants. It might do him good to get outdone a time or two.

“Your name…I will remember it,” Kaito says. What he doesn’t say is that his name has already been engraved into his very soul. He couldn’t forget it if he tried.

-

Okay, so Kaito may have underestimated Edogawa Conan just a little bit. Their altercation on the ship had proved it. The boy is not just intelligent, he’s scarily intelligent. Frighteningly so.

And yet, his guardians are oblivious. Kaito sees through the mask he dons, as used to his own as he is, sees those sharp eyes for what they are. Eyes that pierce even the strongest illusion.

Not only that, but he is hellishly determined when it comes to protecting those he loves. Running across a burning bridge to warn them of murder, collapsing from exhaustion and smoke inhalation just to warn the miss.  Every disguise he dons has some measure of reality; Kaito knows Edogawa is very ill. He does what he can to treat him in his guise of a medical student, but it isn’t enough. The boy pushes through it anyway on sheer willpower alone. Kaito has never seen anyone with this level of resolve; Hakuba could stand to learn a thing or two about tenacity and methodical investigation from him, not that Kaito would want him to.

He is _six_. Six, and already a force of nature. Kaito is a lot of things, but he is no detective. As young as he is, the child _is._ And a very effective one, at that. And yet, no one notices.

Perhaps there is a reason they are soulmates. As good as he is now, what must he be when not held back by well-meaning but ultimately misguided guardians? What will he be when he is older? The thought is terrifying, that this is what the universe says is his match. In this, in the matter of justice and law, he is impotent. He knows who the murderer is, but he is useless as he is, unable to prevent death. Different skills; he doesn’t feel lesser. Just sad that people still fall prey to this kind of bitter, bloody magic.

So when the boy asks him to say his name, he does. Just to see how he will take it.  Kaito is never without plans inside of plans, mostly made up on the fly but no less effective, and knowing what he does of Conan, it will be something.

Him falling into the snow and melting it to icy earth is not part of the plan. Even in this, he is extraordinary. Kaito’s never even heard of such a strong soulmate reaction. He thought his own response had been a fluke.

No. The boy passes out. Perhaps it had been too much, for someone so young. No. People have met their soulmates younger than he. Once again, he is a conundrum.

Yet as visibly shaken as he is, he still deduces the culprit, using some kind of voice-changing mechanism to puppet the heiress as his mouthpiece.

Well, well, well. Edogawa truly is full of surprises.

The conversation they have afterward is intriguing, too.

Not-Edogawa. What would such a young child have to hide? His true skills, Kaito could understand, but his name as well? Hmm. But he is shaken, as shaken as Kaito was at finding out his soulmate through a pseudonym.

It truly is is none of his business.

It doesn’t mean the thought doesn’t cross his mind every now and again, more and more every time they meet.

-

The God’s Tear shines red under the moonlight, red as the blood coating his sleeve. He clenches it in one gloved fist, lets out a breathless laugh, happy and carefree.

It’s finally, finally over. “It’s over,” he says, voice filled with nothing but relief, the diamond fire of the internal gem bathing the whole rooftop in red.

He can rest.

Maybe find fun in his heists again. Kaito will do several more at the very least; they hadn’t seen him hold it up to the moonlight, and they’d left before the police had, so it will be enough to throw them off the scent for good.

A sharp intake of breath has him tucking the gem against his heart and whirling, drawing his card gun in the same moment, pointing it at the figure behind him.

It’s a man he’s never seen, though he looks shockingly familiar, dressed in a dark blue suit with a red tie. He has his hands casually in his pockets, but his face is stunned, his eyes wide and trained on his heart.

Trained on Pandora.

Kaito moves before he thinks, slamming him to the wall, pinning his wrists above his head to keep him from any guns. “Who are you?” Kaito demands, face mere inches from the man’s.

His eyes gleam. “A de-tec-tive,” he sing-songs.

Right. There’s a veritable herd of them in Tokyo these days. “What do you want?” Kaito demands.

“You’re awfully close,” the man points out, as if he hadn’t heard him. “You mind letting me go?”

“Why are you here?” Kaito says, and he hates that his voice comes out a near whine. So close to freedom, only to trip unexpectedly at the finish line.

A pensive, almost wistful expression, crosses his face. “To see you,” he says.

As if it’s that simple. As if it’s that easy. It still tells him nothing.

“Who are you?” Kaito repeats.

“Does it matter?” the man says, still unconcerned. He pulls his hand gently from Kaito’s grip, trails up his sleeve, touching around his wound. “You should get that looked at,” he murmurs. Kaito suppresses a shiver. “It’s still bleeding freely.”

“Who are you?” Kaito says again.

“You tell me, Kaitou Kid,” the man says.

Warmth floods through him at his appellation, intense enough he does shiver this time. But it’s impossible. There’s no way. “Not-Edogawa Conan?”

The man exhales slowly, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, opening them again. “I’m Kudou Shinichi. Nice to meet you properly.”

“Kudou Shinichi,” Kaito murmurs, and Kudou melts against him, they’re so close, skin fever hot, the reaction so much stronger with the use of his proper name. It eases some of the difficult questions Kaito had. There’s no question of it. This man is his soulmate. But “How?”

“I had a feeling if I didn’t come now, I’d never see you again. It looks like you found the gem you were looking for. Guess I was right.”

“You were _six_ ,” Kaito says, helpless. He’s seen a lot of impossible things, but this…he needs a moment.

“I was,” he says with a laugh right next to his ear. “This is my proper age. It’s a long story. Over now. I’ll tell you, if you want to hear it.”

So close. Kaito lets himself go, gives in to the urge he’s had ever since the man said his name. He closes the distance, presses his lips against his. They’re warm, and pliable, and the man responds with equal eagerness.

Kudou pulls away, takes off his tie, wraps it around his upper arm to stop the bleeding. The blood bleeds into the red, staining the tie. “Call me Shinichi. I think we have a lot to talk about, Kaitou Kid,” he says.

“We do,” Kaito says. “And it’s Kaito,” he says, removing his silk hat and monocle. “Call me Kuroba Kaito.”


End file.
